I can remember, that one winter night, sitting alone in my room, just questioning my existence. Why was I here? What was I good for? What would happen if I just disappeared? These questions flooded my head for hours on end, until I finally just decided to sleep. Sleeping had started becoming one of my ‘coping skills’ to my depression. No, it was not a good one, nor a very effective one, but it got everything off of my mind for a little bit, so I did it.
I pondered the thoughts of running away, down to Florida, where my birth family lived. I felt like I didn’t belong here; like I was an outsider. I felt foreign in my own house. I didn’t feel welcome. Maybe, if I found my own blood, I would feel less alone. I went on Google maps, and got the walking directions.
Two weeks, one day, and three hours. That’s how long it would take to get there, walking non-stop. Of course, I would have to factor in sleeping time and breaks. And take into account that they may have a search for me. Well, I didn’t spend to much time thinking about this, for I thought that no one would care enough to search.
I found an old back pack that used to contain some textbooks, and began to fill it up with some clothes, and other necessities. I put the clothes I wear least in there, so that I wouldn’t be wearing something they had expected. I was hoping that that would increase my chance of making it down to Florida successfully.
I hid the flower-covered back pack in the back corner of my messy closet, so no one could see it and question my motives. After doing so, I went to bed, ignoring the fact that I had homework due in the morning.
I moped reluctantly into school. I did feel a little bit guilty for not completing my homework, but I asked myself why bother when grades weren’t going to matter when I leave in a few months anyways.
Nothing else would matter. It didn’t matter if anyone hated me. It didn’t matter if I failed all of my classes. It didn’t matter if I got hurt in the process.
I had decided to at least make an effort in school, so my parents don’t interrogate why I’m failing. However, I was not going to go above and beyond as I used to. I needed to save my energy for planning.
I had to get away, with drawing the least amount of attention possible. Sneaking out about half an hour after everyone fell asleep seemed pretty logical to me, as they would be in a deep enough sleep to not wake up, and I would have enough time to get far enough away. It would also be dark, so no one would be able to see my hideous face as I ran. I could not get caught. It would be hell if I got caught and went back.
I just had to hang in there a few more months, until I had the perfect opportunity to run. It was just a waiting game. I was barely able to go through the relentless day without debating leaving in the night. I couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t my adoptive parents that were messing up. It was me.
Honestly, they did their best, and I appreciate it, but, for some reason, I just didn’t feel right with them. The guilt was just incredible. They did everything they could to get a child, and they had gotten stuck with me. I was an awful daughter. I genuinely was. Sure, I was not out drinking, smoking, and swearing at them, but it was the things I didn’t do that made me terrible.
I didn’t listen to them. I didn’t thank them for everything they’ve done for me. And I didn’t tell them I loved them. I was the worst child anyone could have ever asked for. I don’t know how they dealt with me. I have no clue. At all.